


Baby, There Is No Line

by lucyoppa



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Fake kaistal, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Secret Relationship, Smut, TopSoo, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyoppa/pseuds/lucyoppa
Summary: "You need to tell me when to stop Jongin," he'd sounded so terrified, so out of his depth, so unprepared. "Promise me you'll tell me when to stop?""You're assuming I'll want you to hyung."





	Baby, There Is No Line

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cross post from [AFF](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1137792/baby-there-is-no-line-romance-exo-jongin-kyungsoo-kaisoo-nonau) after 1 million years.
> 
> Originally inspired by 'They Never Know' - it's a songfic of sorts. It was meant to be fluff but I have been informed that I don't know what fluff actually is and this made everyone cry, so... good luck. If you wanna chat, come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/lucy_oppa), or if you're shy, drop a message in my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lucyoppa).
> 
> Disclaimer: this piece of writing is purely fictional, and does not in any way represent my actual views on kaisoo/kaistal, and the way I ship them. No hate towards Soojung or kaistal of any kind is welcome here. Thank you.

 

The front door of the exo dorms clicks open, and Kyungsoo slips in with a tired sigh.

It’s late, and his schedule’s been packed lately, keeping him out longer and up later. Kyungsoo is exhausted, to say the least.

“Hi,” Junmyeon calls from the couch, smiling amicably at Kyungsoo while he toes off his shoes in the entryway.

“Hello.” Kyungsoo sounds curt but he doesn’t mean to. It’s just that the muscles in his back are pulled taught, and the bright light of the living room stings his eyes after the dimly lit hallway.

It’s dark outside already.

“Long day?” Junmyeon’s voice is tinged with sympathetic amusement, and Kyungsoo’s gaze flickers up to his face momentarily as he runs fingers through his wet hair. There are water droplets speckled across his face, and his jacket looks soaked too. “Raining outside?”

“Yep,” Kyungsoo pops the P, as he shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it behind the door. “Is Jongin still up?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t see it with his back turned, but the smile slips right off of Junmyeon’s face.

“I think he went to bed already.”

Kyungsoo walks into the living room now, a soft “ahh,” the only acknowledgement he gives before he sits down on the couch next to Junmyeon, leans his head back, and closes his eyes.

“This company is trying to kill me,” he murmurs faintly, and Junmyeon’s good humour returns with a miniscule little snicker.

And that’s about as much peace as Kyungsoo gets because suddenly there’s a loud “Hyung!” sounding in the room, that startles Kyungsoo’s eyes open, and Sehun and Baekhyun appear from around the corner. Sehun’s long legs get him across the room in about three strides, before he flops down on the couch next to (and partially on top of) Kyungsoo.

“Hi hyung.” And Kyungsoo holds back a groan while Baekhyun finally catches up to Sehun and settles himself on the arm of the sofa. Kyungsoo’s not stupid. He knows Sehun has ulterior motives.

“What?” Kyungsoo sighs, and Sehun tries cover his grin with a pout that Kyungsoo doesn’t think is cute.

“I’m hungry.” He stops and glances back at Baekhyun. “We’re hungry.”

“Food.” Baekhyun helpfully supplies from his spot on the armrest.

“Didn’t you eat dinner already?” He closes his eyes again. Maybe if he pretends to be dead these two will leave him alone.

“Yeah,” Sehun deadpans. “Hours ago.”

Kyungsoo lets out another long-suffering sigh, and he’s about to tell them to just order out when his own stomach grumbles loudly and Sehun laughs. Kyungsoo frowns.

_Traitor._

He hasn’t eaten anything for half the day, he realises.

“Guys,” Junmyeon intervenes. “Kyungsoo’s tired, and –”

_“Fine,”_ Kyungsoo concedes, cutting off both Junmyeon’s oncoming diplomatic speech and the whine bubbling up Sehun’s throat. “I’ll make something. Just… give me a minute, okay?”

Sehun throws his arms around Kyungsoo’s neck, and he nearly laughs because this kid is _such_ a suck-up. Baekhyun cheers, while Kyungsoo forcibly extricates himself from the maze of noodly limbs Sehun has managed to lock around his frame, and both of them are just far too loud for Kyungsoo’s existence right now.

“You’re too nice,” Junmyeon calls after him as he crosses the living room towards him, Chanyeol and Jongin’s shared bedroom door. Baekhyun makes a scandalised noise of protest.

“I know,” Kyungsoo throws a half-smile back over his shoulder to Junmyeon, before quietly turning the door handle and disappearing into the bedroom.

 

* * *

_(They never know  
How we became so close)_

* * *

 

The bedroom is dark.

Kyungsoo can’t see much, but he can vaguely make out his own neatly made bed, Chanyeol’s bed too – messy, but empty, since the other is spending the night back home for his mother’s birthday. And then there’s the lump under the covers of the bed furthest from where he stands by the door, but Jongin’s fast asleep, doesn’t move, doesn’t stir, when Kyungsoo shuts the door softly behind him.

He pads across the room towards the closet, trying to make as little noise as possible, lest he wake Jongin. But Chanyeol’s left his clothes lying around _yet again,_ and Kyungsoo can’t see properly with the lights off, so he inevitably trips, footfalls loud on the floorboards.

He freezes, breath caught in his throat and afraid to make any more noise. The lump shifts and stirs, and Kyungsoo straightens up slowly, eyes glued to the figure he knows is under there.

Jongin whimpers once but doesn’t wake.

Something inexplicable tightens in Kyungsoo’s chest. He stares a moment too long, before snapping himself out of it and opening the cupboard doors.

He changes out of his jeans, trading his outfit for sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. A small noise from Jongin draws his attention while he puts his dirty clothes in the laundry hamper, throwing in one of Chanyeol’s shirts from the floor for good measure. He turns, and Jongin’s face is peeking out from under the blankets now.

He whimpers again, but he’s still very much asleep.

_Is he having a nightmare?_ Kyungsoo wonders, and it seems the only thing he can do is pad closer, watch the way Jongin’s chest makes the blankets rise and fall with his breathing. There are dark lashes fanning out across Jongin’s cheeks, and Kyungsoo gets this little urge to run a fingertip across them, wonders if it would tickle.

But then Jongin makes this satisfied little sigh in the back of his throat, and burrows further down into the covers, and there’s another urge, a rush of warmth in Kyungsoo’s stomach to just _get closer,_ to dive under the covers with him and snuggle. And Kyungsoo really needs to get out, because he can’t breathe, because this feeling makes him want to do something as stupid as wake Jongin up to fucking _cuddle._

So he turns on his heel, makes for the door, all before he changes his mind.

But even when he’s out, and Junmyeon’s still on the couch when he passes on his way to the kitchen, but Sehun and Baekhyun have cleared out of the living room now. Even when he’s out, there’s still that small fluttering in his stomach.

His cheeks feel a little warm.

 

* * *

 

_(They never know  
The reason I keep getting closer to you)_

 

* * *

 

Kyungsoo likes cooking.

Kyungsoo likes cooking because it reminds him of home. Of his mother, who’s taught him everything he knows in the kitchen. And of less stressful times, when the only singing he did didn’t feel like a chore, didn’t feel like _work._

Of course, he _loves_ singing. He loves singing, whereas he only _likes_ cooking. But the difference is no one pays him to cook, even if Sehun sometimes acts like it’s his job.

Singing is his job. And he loves it, but sometimes it feels like exactly that – a job. And that feeling is most poignant on days like this, when he can’t work the sting out of his eyes or the soles of his feet.

So he likes cooking. Likes the peace and quiet he gets in the kitchen. Likes the way the other band members leave him alone, even if it’s only because of the size of the knives he gets to handle.

But he has a limit, and today he’s just not enjoying himself.

Today, he’s tired.

Today he’s tired and there’s too much tension in the line of his shoulder blades – the kind that only a hot shower and a good night’s sleep will fix. His neck feels tight too, and he’s so distracted. All he wants is the warmth of his bed and the dark kind of quiet that comes with it.

But Kyungsoo’s too self-sacrificingly responsible, too much into playing the conscientious, caring hyung, even if he’s one of the youngest, to let his bandmates go hungry on a late Thursday night. So he continues with his chopping, glancing briefly over at the pot on the stove to check if anything’s burnt yet.

He seems immersed in the task at hand, but really, his mind is elsewhere. As much as he just wants to relax and let go, there’s been a lot going on lately, and his mind is running at a million miles a minute.

He’s got a line in one of their new songs he keeps singing off-key, and the company’s placing pressure on him to start singing higher, to start trying something a little more complex. It’s a simple case of him not being comfortable in this new vocal range, of him not being _skilled_ enough, and even if Baekhyun and Jongdae smiled in understanding, took over the few lines for him, he still feels like a failure.

He still feels like he’s not good enough _._

And then there’s the choreography – there’s a few steps he gets in front, gets to lead the group, but he keeps fucking up. He’s already put in an extra two hours of practice and his ankles feel sore and strained, but he still can’t get it right. Today’s just one of those days when he feels… not talented, when he feels self-doubt begin to creep in, and he wonders if he’s really even meant to be part of a group like exo, a group heralded as one of the best.

He’s worried, agitated, anxious, and he can’t make the feeling go away.

And it must really be eating him up, because he doesn’t notice someone else join him in the kitchen until hands come to rest on the counter on either side of his own, and there’s a chest just behind his back – warm, but not quite touching.

He gets such a fright that the knife slips, and he nearly slices his thumb open. One of the hands on the counter moves to take the it away from him and lay it down on the chopping board next to the half cut radishes.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo sighs, his heart rate slowing after the initial shock.

“Hi hyung.”

And just like that, everything’s okay in Kyungsoo’s world again. He bites his lip, closes his eyes to the rush of warmth curling his stomach up into little knots.

“I thought you were asleep.”

Jongin hangs his head low, the side of his forehead brushing against Kyungsoo’s ear, and he can feel the heat of Jongin’s next exhale on his neck. The skin flares, excited, and he feels goose bumps prick along the length of his spine.

They’re not touching, save for the tickle of Jongin’s hair against the shell of Kyungsoo’s ear.

“I was,” Jongin’s voice is tender, thick with just-woken-up sleepiness. “But you know I wouldn’t miss your cooking for the world.”

“Oh,” says Kyungsoo with mock-hurt, but he can’t quite keep the smile out of his voice. “So this is about food?”

Jongin puffs out a laugh that Kyungsoo physically feels, and finally ( _finally_ the voice in Kyungsoo’s head sings unhelpfully) moves to slip his arms around his waist, his bare chest lining up against Kyungsoo’s back.

“Yeah,” he hums, but there’s something dark and heated in the undercurrent of Jongin’s words, and Kyungsoo can’t quite stand it. “What else would I wake myself up for?”

Jongin moves down to mush his face into the crook of Kyungsoo’s neck, and the arms around his waist tighten. He’s successfully caught, clasped in the loop of Jongin’s arms, but he can’t say he particularly minds.

The kitchen is quiet, save for the distant noise of voices on the TV, and the ticking of the clock. Jongin’s breath fans down over his collarbone, sneaks under the edge of his T-shirt.

“You’ve been out late a lot recently,” Jongin mumbles into his neck, and Kyungsoo shudders at the feeling of lips moving against his charged skin. “I miss you.”

The words are simple. Jongin’s never been the type to embellish things. But Kyungsoo feels this flood of warm affection in his chest, and he feels so stupid because it’s not like Jongin’s just professed his love or asked for them to get married, but his throat gloms up all wrong, and his next words come out choked nonetheless.

“I miss you too.”

Jongin hums _“you smell like rainwater”_ into Kyungsoo’s neck, but doesn’t say anything else, and the silence stretches. It’s comfortable, save for the painful way Kyungsoo’s heart is still clenching, and he sighs softly. His eyes are still closed, and he leans back into the embrace, letting all of the stress of the day ebb away with Jongin’s soft breathing.

Everything’s okay.

They just stand there like that until –

“Um,” and Kyungsoo’s eyes fly open at the sound of a third voice, while Jongin jerks his head up and away from Kyungsoo’s neck. “Am I interrupting something?”

Jongdae’s standing in the hallway, cell phone in hand, shooting them a look that’s one part disgusted, two parts amused.

The moment breaks.

Kyungsoo doesn’t need to turn to know Jongin’s frowning when he pulls away, muttering something foul under his breath as he turns on his heel and disappears from the kitchen.

He sighs again. Once. Softly.

Jongdae’s still standing there, with a judgemental eyebrow raised in Kyungsoo’s direction, when he resumes the chopping Jongin had interrupted.

“What?” He snaps, petulant, now that Jongin’s gone and his exhaustion is creeping back in.

The blush on his cheeks is annoyingly telling though.

“Nothing,” Jongdae grins, and Kyungsoo doesn’t like it, but the other turns away from him to continue on his way to the living room. “Nothing at all.”

Kyungsoo sighs yet again, and glances over at the pot.

The meat is burnt.

 

 

* * *

 

_(Everything is wet because of the rain  
Ignore everyone’s stares)_

* * *

 

Kyungsoo sets the steaming pot down on the dining room table, standing back to wipe the sweat off of his brow. He’s about to call out for the other members, but Sehun’s around the corner in three seconds flat with the others in tow.

He must have some kind of sixth sense for food, Kyungsoo muses.

It’s a good thing he’s made a lot, because Junmyeon joins them, and after a few minutes, Jongdae and Minseok materialise and begin helping themselves too, the room filling with sleepy chatter. Jongin takes a seat next to Kyungsoo, and he feels a hand brush his thigh momentarily – so brief he could have imagined it.

And there’s that feeling again – that pinching, crushing feeling in his chest, like nothing else matters.

He looks across at the younger, and he’s got food smudged all across his top lip, eyes still swollen from sleep. It’s too cute, and Kyungsoo chuckles, picking up a napkin to dab at Jongin’s face.

Junmyeon’s eyes flicker, disapproving, from across the table, but otherwise, no one pays much attention to the two of them, too hypnotised by food to care. Besides – they’ve grown used to it, Kyungsoo figures. All this excessive skinship. Even if they do take time out to tease once on a while.

It’s only Junmyeon who _actually_ knows anything’s going on, anyway, and Kyungsoo will never forget the first time he was pulled aside to talk about it.

“Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon had begun, in that benign way of his, discomfort so clear that Kyungsoo’d almost asked if he was feeling alright. “Um, I don’t mean to pry, but it’s kind of my job and… is there something, uhh… _going on_ between you and Jongin?”

And Kyungsoo couldn’t have helped it if he’d tried. A burst of laughter had bubbled up his throat before he could even stop it, and Junmyeon had downright stared.

Kyungsoo – calm, collected, in control Kyungsoo – had outright laughed in his face.

“Just,” Junmyeon had frowned then, taking Kyungsoo’s reaction as denial. “Just don’t get caught.”

He’d left Kyungsoo then, frown deepening on his face as he swept out of the room. Alone, and amused, Kyungsoo had had to bite down on his lip to stop a second wave of laughter from consuming him.

Junmyeon had phrased the question wrong, anyway. It wasn’t _something_ that was going on between him and Jongin.

It was _everything_.

_(They never know  
Only we can feel the world that is perfectly different)_

And now, back in the dining room surrounded by six other lethargic bandmates, that same amusement returns to tug the corners of his mouth up.

“What’s funny?” Jongin asks drowsily, once Kyungsoo has finished dabbing the food from his mouth and lowers the napkin.

“Nothing.”

And Kyungsoo couldn’t explain it if he tried, because it’s not funny, really, when he thinks about it.

This relationship is not _funny_.

And he’d realised it that one day – that one day when they were both in far too deep for either to think about turning back – when Jongin had come home, and he wasn’t crying, but Kyungsoo could see he _had_ been.

He’d been crying, and as soon as he was safely in the confines of his own bedroom, he’d started up again.

Kyungsoo had sat down next to him, hand on his shoulder, a gentle “what’s wrong Jongin?” falling from his lips. And Jongin had grabbed for him, pulled him close and sobbed into his neck, even if Chanyeol was still in the room and sent them a vaguely disturbed look before leaving with haste.

It had taken a while for Jongin to regain enough composure to speak, and even when he did, he still hiccupped, chest heaving with the force of it all.

“They know,” he’d tried to explain. “The company knows.”

And Kyungsoo already knew what he was talking about, the growing sense of dread gnawing a pit in his stomach. But he’d still kept his voice steady, whispered: “The company knows what, Jongin?”

“They know about us.”

And it was the last coherent thing he said before he was bawling into Kyungsoo’s shoulder again, snippets of _someone saw us_ and _want to break us up,_ and _pretend to date Soojung_ the only things he could make out against the backdrop of Jongin’s tears.

Kyungsoo got the gist of it.

It was a long time before Jongin calmed down enough for Kyungsoo to hold his hand, look him in the eyes, and remind him he doesn’t care what the company thinks, and he doesn’t care if Jongin has to act happy and in love in public with Soojung.

Because, at the end of the day, Jongin will still be _his._

But when the news went public two weeks later, Jongin had looked so miserable they’d _both_ nearly cried on stage.

He’s always hated seeing Jongin like that. Always hated seeing Jongin hurting.

Later, when they got to be alone together in the shower, Kyungsoo had wanted, childishly, to say _tell me where it hurts Jongin, so I can kiss it better,_ but the look in Jongin’s eyes spoke for him, and he didn’t need to ask to know Jongin’s answer.

_Everywhere._

So Kyungsoo kissed him everywhere, left Jongin breathless. Maybe they were too loud, and maybe Junmyeon’s frown was even deeper the next morning.

But Kyungsoo couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Not when Jongin finally started smiling again.

_(This is a message between us, they scarred us_  
Made us targets and shot us with arrows  
And when I kiss where the arrow scratched you  
Every day I fall for you harder)

So no, their relationship isn’t _funny._ And Kyungsoo has to remind himself of that every day – has to remind himself this is a big fucking deal.

A big fucking deal that could potentially ruin both of their careers.

But looking at Jongin now, the way he smiles and pouts, still sleepy, listening to him murmur “the food is great hyung” quiet enough so only he can hear it, watching him bicker with Sehun across the table –

Kyungsoo thinks everything about this man is worth it.

He only realises he’s been staring too long when he falls prey to another of Junmyeon’s disparaging looks.

He’s not particularly sorry, though.

He pushes back his chair slowly, stands, stretches.

“I’m turning in for the night,” Kyungsoo says, to no one in particular. “I cooked so I’m not washing up.”

He leaves amidst a smattering of goodnights from the few members who can pull their attention off of their food long enough to acknowledge his existence. Part of him knows no one will do the dishes after he goes to sleep, and he’ll probably end up doing them the next morning, because he’s the only person in this goddam dorm who cares even a little bit about basic human hygiene.

Really, if it weren’t for him, this entire band would have died of some exotic disease long ago.

But right now, he’s too tired to care, and he shuts the bedroom door behind him, strips off his clothes, and heads into the shower.

The warm water helps ease the knots in his back, though one of his ankles is really starting to ache now. He hopes he hasn’t done any serious damage, because dance practice is going to be a bitch for the next week if he has. Even if the company gave time off for anything less than a proper sprain, or a broken bone, Kyungsoo can’t afford to fall behind anyway.

He shifts his weight onto the other leg, reaches up for his shampoo to begin lathering up his hair.

And maybe it’s because he’s been thinking about Jongin, and their relationship so much lately, but he finds himself reminded –

Reminded of the first time Jongin dropped to his knees in front of him in the shower. The first time Jongin nudged his face between plush thighs, pushed Kyungsoo back against the tiled wall.

_(Oh would you dare to cross the line?)_

Back then, it had been more about hectic, twelve-hour schedules, and needing some way to relieve the stress, than actually caring about each other. But it had grown, morphed, into something tentative and delicate, something more than simply sucking each other off in the shower after a long day, sloppy handjobs before the other members had woken up.

And Kyungsoo wonders –

Did Jongin know what he was signing himself up for, that day? Did he realise, at the time, what a great, big (beautiful) mess it was all going to become?

Does Jongin regret it?

And Kyungsoo used to be insecure about this – used to wonder if it was even possible for Jongin to care _half_ as much as he did. But sometimes, Jongin gives him these looks.

Jongin gives him these looks that are long, and yearning, like Kyungsoo is the only person in the room, the only person in the _universe._

And they drive Kyungsoo up the wall, but he’s not so insecure anymore.

_(I opened my everything towards you  
My eyes and the place that’s deep within my heart)_

He switches off the water and pushes a hand through his hair, even if it’s too short to get in his eyes anymore. The bathroom is humid and misty, because Kyungsoo likes his showers scalding, and he towels himself off, examines his face in the mirror for a moment, before he pulls on and oversized T-shirt.

It’s his favourite. Big enough that Chanyeol doesn’t complain when he forgoes pants underneath it. And he _hates_ wearing pants to bed.

He pushes through the door, back into the bedroom, and something stupid and sentimental inside of him lifts, because Jongin’s there, on his bed, fiddling with his cell phone.

Looking for all the world like he was waiting for him.

Jongin looks up. Puts his cell phone down. Smiles.

He extends a hand.

“C’mere.”

_(Let go  
Don’t say no)_

And Kyungsoo can’t help but follow.

He sits on the bed next to Jongin, whose sitting up against the headboard, hand clasping and fingers linking with Jongin’s outstretched one. The mattress dips a little, and he tucks one leg up underneath him, turning to face Jongin.

The room is dim, lit only by Jongin’s bedside lamp.

He brings Kyungsoo’s hand up to his chest, traces the veins along the back of it with his free hand. Kyungsoo’s hands are rough, manly, and he doesn’t particularly like them, but Jongin has always seemed to. The path of one, graceful fingertip leaves his skin prickling.

Jongin sighs.

“So Junmyeon-hyung’s upset with us again.” He doesn’t look up, purses his lips in concentration when he starts tracing characters on Kyungsoo’s skin. He’s writing out their names, Kyungsoo realises.

“Junmyeon-hyung can cry me a river.”

The words are meant to be harsh, but they come out docile, distracted. He can’t bring himself to even raise his voice – not here, not with Jongin and that terrifying affection in his eyes, the tiny laugh that finds its way through his lips.

Nothing harsh belongs here.

“You think I’m going to get another talking to?”

Jongin looks up, and there’s mirth in his eyes, a smirk on his lips.

Kyungsoo smiles despite himself, because last time Junmyeon had decided to intervene, he’d gone through Jongin instead of Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo had nearly punched him in the face when he found out. The two of them had battled it out in an impressive screaming match, voices raising so high that Minseok and Yixing had come running, convinced fists were about to start flying.

But neither of them are that type of person, really. They just needed some time to cool off, was all.

And when he’d had some time to think, he realised he couldn’t really blame Junmyeon for being angry. If this _thing_ of theirs blows up, it wouldn’t just harm him and Jongin. Junmyeon and the other members would get caught in the crossfire as well.

It’s not really fair that they’re all forced to take this risk for him and Jongin too, he figures. The other members didn’t sign up for this, never asked for all the extra complications.

But Kyungsoo’s a little bit selfish. And if the alternative means losing Jongin then –

Then it’s a risk they’re going to have to take. Fair or not.

Because losing Jongin is just… not an option. Not something he even wants to think about.

Besides –

Junmyeon’s got them all wrong.

“This little fling of yours is not worth it, Kyungsoo,”he’d pleaded, pushing an agitated hand through his hair. “You can’t continue risking all of our careers for this.”

But right now –

Right now, he brings his free hand up to Jongin’s cheek. Right now, he leans forward. Right now, he presses a chaste kiss to Jongin’s mouth.

And it’s just the tiniest brush of lips, really. But it’s so measured, so slow and sensual, and Jongin’s whole body visibly shudders, his breath hitches.

But right now –

This is not a _little fling._ This is four and a half years’ worth of building tension, cracking, pushing Kyungsoo forward to kiss Jongin properly, to stifle a whine by licking into his mouth sensuously when Jongin’s eyes screw closed.

This is not –

“It’s going to end soon,” Junmyeon had spat. “It’s going to end soon and you’re going to wish you had listened to me now.”

This is not _like_ that.

Jongin keens, a hazy, broken little noise when Kyungsoo sucks on his bottom lip. He’s let go of Kyungsoo’s hand now to grasp at his shoulders, clinging tight.

_(Oh, you are too beautiful_  
To make us  
Fit into their ending)

Junmyeon’s got them all wrong.

And Kyungsoo would risk _the world_ for this.

They separate for air now, and Jongin’s already panting, squirming, all worked up and only two kisses in. The sight of his lips, kiss-bruised and slick, has Kyungsoo shifting, swinging a leg over so he’s straddling Jongin, pressing him back against the headboard.

Kyungsoo can’t say he’s not just as affected by it.

“Chanyeol’s not here.” Jongin breathlessly reminds him, staring up into Kyungsoo’s eyes, cheeks dark.

He wonders what Jongin sees there, because he’s been doing a shit job of hiding his feelings lately, if he’s perfectly honest.

But then –

Jongin’s own eyes are dark too, swirling with emotion.

And Kyungsoo just doesn’t understand how he got lucky enough to earn that look.

“So you’re saying I should take my time?” Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow, and drinks in the way Jongin has to bite his lip in response. He likes nights like this, even if they’re rare. Nights when he has enough time to work Jongin into a proper mess, have him writhing on the sheets long before he lets him come.

“Not _too_ much time,” Jongin complains, right before Kyungsoo kisses him again, pulling their bodies down the bed until Jongin is lying flat. His palms slide smoothly down to Jongin’s stomach, stilling only for a moment before they run upwards over a lithe, strong chest, pausing to circle around the edge of his ribcage, holding there just lightly.

He brushes at Jongin’s nipples with his thumbs, feels them turn hard, hears Jongin mewl into the kiss. He’s moved to kneel over Jongin, and the other’s hands circle his back, grabbing too hard at the slight jolt of pleasure. It’s clumsy, but Kyungsoo half-falls onto Jongin’s chest, their lips separating when he ends up mushed into Jongin’s neck instead.

Nobody said he was graceful.

“Thanks for squashing me hyung.”

And Jongin’s still breathless but it’s not from Kyungsoo’s weight. Kyungsoo might be much more formidable now than he used to be – his biceps bigger than Jongin’s own – but he’s still tiny in comparison.

Tiny – but Jongin makes him feel big. Jongin makes him feel strong and protective whenever he buries himself in Kyungsoo’s embrace at the end of a hard day.

Jongin makes him feel a lot of things. Jongin makes him feel a lot of things he’s not supposed to feel.

“Shush you,” he chides, leaning up to nip at Jongin’s nose, making him snicker. Ripples of movement thrum through Jongin’s chest, transferring into Kyungsoo, his flimsy T-shirt doing nothing as a barrier against Jongin’s delight.

Kyungsoo presses their mouths together again, just once, fleetingly, to catch the last of Jongin’s laughter, before he works his way over the side of Jongin’s jaw and down his neck, licking and kissing, and scraping his teeth along skin.

It’s all for show, though. He never quite bites down.

He’s not allowed to leave marks like he wants to – he _knows_ – even if the thought of the aftermath has given him a laugh before.

Soojung would probably be thrown into a front-page scandal. Junmyeon would have a _fit._

He skips his mouth down over Jongin’s torso, flicks his tongue over a nipple in passing. Jongin’s shifting anxiously now, small sounds spilling from his mouth that have Kyungsoo’s half-hard cock twitching, taking renewed interest.

Kyungsoo presses a kiss low, on the softest part of Jongin’s tummy, and the muscles beneath his lips roll with the contact. Above him, Jongin’s fingers twist into the sheets, mussing them up even more when Kyungsoo’s tongue comes out to lick, kittenish, at the trail of hair leading under the waistband of his sweatpants.

He tips his eyes up, and Jongin’s staring right back with teeth sunk into his lower lip, adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.

“Please,” he snuffles, and it might be a trick of the light, but Jongin’s eyes look damp. “Please Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo’s a generous lover – doesn’t have time for teasing, never cared for making anyone beg – so all he does is nod once before breaking eye-contact, sitting back to lift Jongin’s hips and pull his sweatpants off.

He’s naked now – his body twisted on the sheets, pupils dilated, and so very lovely that Kyungsoo wants to burn the very image into his long-term memory, see it on the back of his eyelids every time he shuts his eyes.

Jongin’s thighs part easily when he nudges in between them, and he sucks a breath through his teeth, sharp and fast, when Kyungsoo takes his cock in one hand.

And after that, he doesn’t waste any more time, running a tongue over his lips before he bends down to take the head into his mouth. Jongin lets out a breathy little _“ah”,_ and his face is scrunched, eyes closed, when Kyungsoo peeks up at him, bobbing his head once just to watch him struggle against all of that pleasure.

And it works, because Jongin’s hands come up to bury in his hair, cradling the back of head softly. The thighs on either side of his face threaten to smother him, and Kyungsoo moves his hands to pin them back to the sheets and hold them there.

Kyungsoo bobs his head again, taking more of the shaft in this time. He closes his eyes and picks up the pace, and Jongin’s head falls back with a telling _thunk_ against the headboard, fingers carding lovingly through the hair behind Kyungsoo’s ears. He presses his tongue into the slit, sucks _hard,_ and when he looks up again, Jongin’s eyes are rolling back. He chokes back a whimper when Kyungsoo holds his thighs in place, stops him from grinding up into the wet heat of Kyungsoo’s mouth.

They’ve talked about it before, and it’s a mutual agreement that no matter how much Kyungsoo wants to deep-throat Jongin, he can’t. He just doesn’t think _I’m sorry, I can’t sing because my throat hurts from sucking dick_ is an excuse that’s going to sit well with his vocal coach.

Jongin had cracked the fuck up the first time Kyungsoo phrased it like that. Laughed so hard that tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and he doubled over, clutching at his own stomach.

Kyungsoo’d just had to join in.

But then –  Jongin doesn’t seem to mind at all about the deep-throating thing, because when Kyungsoo keeps up that suction, a little bit harder now, moves to run his tongue all around the crown, the fingers in Kyungsoo’s hair tighten, pain pricking along his scalp.

“Please Kyungsoo.” He’s blubbering now, words coming out watery and incoherent, but Kyungsoo knows what he wants, even if his vocabulary always gets very limited in these circumstances. “Please, _please.”_

Kyungsoo hums around his cock before he lets it fall, hot and heavy from his mouth, and Jongin moans so loud he has to press his knuckles to his teeth and bite down. It’s really cute, Kyungsoo thinks, the way his brows scrunch together when he’s like this. When he’s all blushing and sweaty and worked up.

Really cute, but also sexy as hell – and his cock seems to agree, because Jongin shifts, restless, and it twitches again. He’s now fully hard, his erection making the fabric of his shirt tent and dampen at the front, aching painfully between his legs.

But he’s not focused on his own pleasure right now.

He nips at the inside of Jongin’s thigh before sitting up and stretching over him for the side-table drawer. He manhandles it open, too turned on to do it properly, nearly wrenching it right out of the table, before rooting around inside, hand finally closing on a small bottle, pulling it out.

Jongin, in the meantime, sneaks his hands under the edge of Kyungsoo’s shirt, brushes them up the length of his shaft, and Kyungsoo has to kill the growl rumbling through his chest by momentarily abandoning the bottle of lube to pull off his shirt, push Jongin back down to the mattress and pin him there.

He kisses the smirk off of those lips, tongue probing, running along the back of Jongin’s teeth. Jongin clamps down on his lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth even when Kyungsoo pulls back to look him in the eye.

Jongin’s panting, eyes blown wide.

His lashes are clumped with moisture, dark against his cheeks when he blinks, and there’s a flush blooming across his face, heated and dark. His lips are swollen red, bitten and kissed and slicked up with spit and Kyungsoo –

Kyungsoo’s never seen anything more beautiful.

That familiar cocktail of emotions chase up his throat, but he swallows it down painfully before it can spill over into his mouth, before _I love you_ can trip its way off of his tongue.

They’ve never gone that far. They’ve never said _I love you,_ even if Kyungsoo’s sure it’s mutual.

He just doesn’t know if it’s time yet.

He’s got to remind himself that this relationship is a big fucking thing. That _I love you_ is sweet and frivolous, and it might be _true,_ but this relationship is a huge-ass deal, some terrible dirty secret on their otherwise clean records.

And _I love you_ is that last line they haven’t crossed.

He’s not sure they’re ready to throw away the escape route just yet.

But all of this, and all of these emotions –

They don’t stop him from moving back down, from slicking his fingers up and working Jongin open.

And Jongin’s used to this by now, so he doesn’t wriggle, doesn’t complain, even if Kyungsoo knows the first two fingers are never very pleasant, always clumsy and blunt and poking in all the wrong places. But three fingers in, and Kyungsoo crooking his fingers just _so_ has Jongin letting out the softest sigh, and Kyungsoo knows he’s found the right place when Jongin blinks up at him, eyes bottomless, and murmurs a simple “more.”

It all feels so private and illicit with the way Jongin’s breathing lulls and hitches, tiny, uncontainable moans spilling all over the place, and everywhere he looks is just _Jongin, Jongin, Jongin._

He doesn’t know what he did in his past life to get to watch Jongin like this, all gorgeous and out of breath. He could spend a lifetime repenting for every bad thing he’s ever done, every terrible thought he’s ever had, and he still wouldn’t deserve to be here, like _this,_ with someone like Jongin.

Jongin catches his wrist now, eyes open wide and glossy and trusting.

“Enough,” He chews on his lip, eyelashes fluttering. “Need you.”

And he’s never been able to deny Jongin anything, so he withdraws his fingers and slicks himself up, lining up against Jongin’s entrance before pushing in. He’s slow, careful, but it’s still a little painful and Jongin tosses his head to the side, presses his cheek into the pillow.

The first time they’d done this Kyungsoo had been _so_ afraid of hurting him.

Jongin had pulled off of his cock in the shower, lips puffy, eyes half-mast, and whispered “please fuck me, hyung.”

And maybe Kyungsoo had never wanted to wreck someone so badly in his life as he did then, but he’d never done anything like _this_ before, didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

He wasn’t a virgin. But he’d never done anything with a guy before Jongin came along.

Jongin had taken the lead to begin with, while Kyungsoo just scrunched his eyes shut and held on, but there came a point when he had the younger backed up against the shower wall, legs wrapped around his waist and crying out “hyung!” against his throat.

So he’d gulped. Steeled himself.

“You need to tell me when to stop Jongin,” he’d sounded so terrified, so out of his depth, so unprepared. “Promise me you’ll tell me when to stop?”

_(Baby tell me where the line is)_

But Jongin had only looked at him, breath caught and eyes hooded, and maybe there was a trace of dark humour in those eyes. Or maybe Kyungsoo was imagining it.

But –

“You’re assuming I’ll _want_ you to, hyung.”

And Kyungsoo couldn’t contain the groan, couldn’t stop himself from pushing in, even if he was a little rougher than he should have been.

The noises Jongin had made had been worth it though, even if he doesn’t think the shower was quite loud enough to drown them out.

And Jongin couldn’t even dance right the next day, so it had taken a full month before Jongin could convince Kyungsoo to do it again.

But he’s changed since then, learnt a lot, and now –

Now, he knows how to be gentle.

Now, he stops and waits for Jongin to adjust, even if everything’s too tight, and the heat’s practically strangling him with pleasure. Waits for those eyes to open and look up at him again, so innocent and believing and Kyungsoo doesn’t feel anywhere _near_ worthy.

And he can’t bare it, so he leans down to kiss him, the silkiest little nuzzle of lips. Jongin sighs again, hips shifting, and Kyungsoo takes it as his cue to move, drawing back and pushing in again slowly.

Jongin’s arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, pull him in closer, straining his neck to cling at Kyungsoo’s lips.

And Kyungsoo moves his own arms, slipping them underneath Jongin to cradle him up to his chest, holding him so tenderly, so close, that Jongin chokes back a sob, clutching harder.

They just rock together like that, slow, deliberate thrusts of Kyungsoo’s hips making Jongin tremble and shudder in the embrace, soft little noises muffled up into a million tiny kisses shared between the two of them.

And everyone –

“ _There,”_ Jongin gasps when Kyungsoo changes the angle of his hips slightly, pushing in deeper. “Right there Soo.”

Everyone’s got them so, _so_ wrong.

Junmyeon, who thinks this is just a _little fling._ The company, who thinks tearing them apart will be as simple a matter as throwing around some dating scandal with Soojung.

And this society they’re living in – because it says there’s something dirty and wrong and impure about the way Jongin sniffles into this next kiss, the way he holds on to Kyungsoo like it’s the only thing he _can_ do.

Jongin’s moaning, floundering and ungrounded beneath him when he continues to rock up into the same spot that has Jongin coming apart. He nearly weeps when Kyungsoo untangles one arm from around his frame, reaching down to palm at his cock.

So very, very wrong.

_(They never know)_

Because Jongin gurgles “so good Soo, so good” and the tears in his eyes have spilled over, so Kyungsoo leans in to kiss one away, a moan rumbling deep and low in his own chest when Jongin gets all antsy, hips swerving down to meet Kyungsoo’s.

And he’s struck with the sudden urge to protect this boy – this sighing, squirming, gorgeous boy – underneath him, so he pulls him impossibly closer, squashing his face up into his chest, crushing them tightly together.

Nobody can hurt them here, like this.

Not Junmyeon. Not the company. Not this stupid, judgemental society they’re in.

Nobody can hurt them. Not when they’re confined in each other’s arms, guarded from the rest of the world by locked doors and fragile sighs.

_(Yeah, don’t listen to how  
People try to make us break down)_

Kyungsoo picks up the pace – but just a bit. It’s still languid and slow, and he works Jongin’s cock with one hand, relishing in the way he voices out the pleasure.

And it’s not about him, but –

– But Jongin’s clamping down around him now, too tight and too hot, and Kyungsoo moans out hotly, not sure how much longer he can hold on.

Jongin shifts his face up, presses into Kyungsoo’s neck, mumbling, incoherent, but Kyungsoo thinks he hears something like “Soo, I’m gonna –”

So Kyungsoo works him harder, thrusts deeper, and Jongin wriggles and clutches on, back arching when he finally comes, white spilling all over both of their chests and Kyungsoo’s hand.

He bites down on Kyungsoo’s neck because there’s a wail waiting at the back of his throat that he has to choke off before anyone can hear, and Kyungsoo knows it’s gonna leave a mark, knows that the makeup noonas are going to throw a fit tomorrow, that Junmyeon’s probably going to faint –

But he doesn’t care about that right now because –

– Because Jongin’s clamping down so tight, blunt fingertips engraving themselves in his shoulder blades, riding out his high, and just so stunning, and –

It’s all too much.

The look on Jongin’s face – concentrated, pained, even though Kyungsoo knows he’s anything but – is enough to push him over the edge. He comes with a stifled groan, vision flashing white as he empties himself inside Jongin, hips canting until there’s nothing left and he feels too sensitive and sore to keep moving.

It’s all too much.

Jongin has gone boneless and soft in his arms, looking like he wouldn’t move for the next week if he had the choice. Kyungsoo pulls out with a lewd squelch, and this is always the part he hates most, because all he wants to do is tumble down next to Jongin, all blissed out in his post-orgasm haze, but Jongin always whines and complains if Kyungsoo leaves the come long enough to dry on his skin, tells him it gets itchy and annoying, and it’s a waste of water to take another shower.

So he leans over Jongin for the tissue box on the side-table, pulls out a couple to mop up the mess between Jongin’s legs.

When he looks up, Jongin’s already staring down at him, smiling sleepily with that look in his eyes that drives Kyungsoo crazy.

“Thanks,” he says, hand reaching out to cup Kyungsoo’s face when he moves up to lie down next to him.

It’s in times like these that Kyungsoo understands why they call it an ‘afterglow’. Because Jongin is literally glowing – looking that weird kind of debauched angelic, an oxymoron only _he_ can pull off.

“You know they think you bottom in fanfictions?” he asks now, eyes playful, satisfied.

“Me?” he raises a hand to his chest, as if offended, and it’s just pointless banter, but he likes it when Jongin laughs, eyes twinkling. “A _bottom?”_

Jongin smirks at this.

“Yup. Fans think you’re small and cute,” Jongin pokes him in the chest now. “And _squishy.”_

“Squishy?” Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows in surprise, and his face must be comical because Jongin lets out a loud peal of laughter this time –

– Only silenced when Kyungsoo leans in to lick the very _sound_ out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he breathes out against Kyungsoo’s lips when the other lets him go, voice warm. “Squishy.”

And then he moves, the hand on his face curling delicately around Kyungsoo’s cheek, the other going up to smooth through his hair, eyes searching.

“But they don’t know you like I know you.”

_No one knows me like you know me,_ Kyungsoo thinks, and –

It’s all too much.

And maybe Kyungsoo should be careful about this, because this relationship is a big fucking thing, and maybe Kyungsoo should wait, but –

“I love you,” he whispers, and his voice is falling apart all over the place. He might be about to cry.

_So, so much._

– Oh.

Oops.

But then Jongin’s eyes are so full, so unquestioning, so undoubting, and his lips wobble, just like that, just slightly, and Kyungsoo’s not particularly sorry.

“Love you too.”

And they might have just blurred that last line, crossed into something new that they shouldn’t have, but for now, it’s worth it when Jongin smiles into a kiss that’s wet with tears.

It’s worth it.

Because for a moment, they are completely alone, and utterly in love, and nothing is complicated.

For a moment –

– Everything is perfect.

_(Oh I will cross the line first  
I cross the line that divides us)_

 

 


End file.
